


Solstice

by jynzandtonic



Category: Adam Driver Character Universe, Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: BABY'S FIRST FANTASY PREMISE, Blow Jobs, CLYDE RESCUES READER UWU, Car Accidents, F/M, Fluff and Smut, HEA, Hissing Opossums, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kitsune!reader, Oral Sex, Other, POV Alternating, Penis In Vagina Sex, Reader is basically a shapeshifting fox so..., Sharing a Bed, Soft Clyde Logan, Wildlife Rehabber!Clyde, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynzandtonic/pseuds/jynzandtonic
Summary: It happens every Winter Solstice--you shift into a fox and wander the West Virginian woods for the longest night of the year. When you're injured in an accident, the kind local bartender takes you into his care. Little does he know you'll shift back into your human form come sunrise... without a shred of clothing on you.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HULLO this is literally the first fantasy-ish premise I've ever written (and will probably be the only heh) buuut I got some great inspo from two lovely tumblr anons and COULDN'T RESIST IT for a magical lil' winter solstice thing. Fluff and smut ensues. Xoxo love y'all.
> 
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> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ 
> 
> ················································

He never used to like his prosthetic hand much. Sure, the new carbon fiber and metal one was much sleeker, much more dexterous, but he had no special love in his heart for it. 

Until now.

It’s really quite the help.

The little opossum joey hisses and spits, tiny teeth clicking at the hard metal of Clyde’s left hand.

“I won’t have none of that from you, little miss,” he scolds.

He holds up the bottle of warm formula again, tapping a drop on the little creature’s nose in hopes of enticing her. More hissing ensues.

“I made you a nice dinner and _this_ is how you thank me? We have got to work on your manners.”

He sighs, nestling her back in the bundle of fleece blankets and gently plucking up one of her siblings. The joey’s hiss is halfhearted; he fully changes his opinion of Clyde once he latches onto the bottle of rich, creamy formula.

“Now you should let your sisters know how tasty this is, will ya?” he pleads. He’s got three more joeys to nurse before he heads to the bar tonight and no time to waste.

Feisty lil’ things. Must’a fallen out of their mommy’s pouch. He just couldn’t leave ‘em when he saw the abandoned litter curled up in a hollow stump, shivering and huddled for warmth.

They’re gaining weight now, slowly but surely—give ‘em another month or two and they’ll be big and strong, ready to head out into the woods on their own. Well, if little sassy girl keeps eating, that is.

He can’t imagine how many little chomper marks he’d have in his left hand if it weren’t made of aluminum.

He finishes up with feeding the litter and checks in on the barn owl with the broken wing—he’s healing up nicely. Might not be able to fly the same way he used to, but he’ll get back to the skies and his perch again.

Time for work. He clicks off the lights in the trailer and leans back into the doorframe before he locks up.

“You lot behave tonight, you hear?”

Sassy girl hisses from her pile of blankets.

. . . . . .

Folks in West Virginia don’t take too kindly to foxes. To them, they’re just chicken-killers. Pet-snatchers. Garbage-pilferers. Better dealt with by using a shotgun than keeping some distance.

You’ve stayed human for as long as you can remember. It’s safer this way. No bloodhounds set after you, no shells loosed in your direction. You can walk the woods in peace. Barefoot, even, just like you used to. Those are the times you nearly forget what you are. 

You’ve stayed human for as long as you can remember.

Except for one night a year.

The winter solstice.

The _longest_ night of the year.

It starts like a drop of cold water at the base of your skull—blue dusk falling across the Boone County hills and blue ice sliding down the column of your spine, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

Your eyes flutter shut as your back arches, every hair standing on end until it isn’t hair anymore—it’s fur. You feel your face begin the lengthen into a graceful point, your snout filled with thousands upon thousands of smells you’ve not encountered for a full revolution around the sun. As you drop to your knees, your hands and feet compress to soft, silent paws.

And finally, you feel it—the sumptuous plume of your tail blossoming from the root of your spine.

You were born in the forest, just like this: snow white fur, glimmering eyes, attentive ears. Quiet as a whisper, nimble as moonlight. You slink out of the clothing pooling around you, slip out the crack in the back door you’ve left for yourself.

Half moon tonight. Bright enough to light up the soft ground beneath your paws, dark enough for the stars to shine bright. You’ll return to the woods tonight.

With swift strides, your limbs carry you across the road toward the threshold of the trees.

Gaze fixed on your refuge, you don’t hear the growl of the engine in the distance.

You’re blinded by the flash of headlights as the car careens around the corner, and then…

Darkness.

. . . . . .

_Jackass is drivin’ even faster than Mellie,_ Clyde grumbles to himself, eyes on the truck ahead of him. _Gonna give ‘em an earful if they’re headed to the bar._

But then he sees the flash of white fur—the small creature thrown from the road as it’s clipped by the truck’s front bumper. 

The truck drives on, not even bothering to slow down.

Clyde screeches to a halt, flicks his brights on, and darts up the road, panicked.

It’s… a fox. The most beautiful fox he’s ever seen. In fact, he’s _never_ seen a fox quite like this—he’s not even sure what kind it could be. It’s pure white, and far too willowy to be any red or gray fox. It’s nothing that oughta live around here.

He kneels down with his heart in his throat, softly pressing two fingers between the ribs behind its front leg. There’s a pulse. He sighs with relief, looking it over for signs of trauma.

No bleeding… Doesn’t look like any broken legs… Poor thing got one hell of a walloping, but he thinks it’ll be okay. It’s still unconscious, though, and the temperature’s dropping fast. He can’t leave it here to freeze.

Removing his thick jacket from his shoulders, he gently wraps the fox in the quilted flannel. He lifts it as soft as he can—wincing at the little whimper it lets out—and carries it back to the car with him. He’ll have to keep watch over it while he works the bar tonight.

His time at Duck Tape seems like it couldn’t go any slower.

The hours drag on as the patrons come and go; he takes any lull at the bar as an opportunity to retreat to the back office and check on the poor dear. Its chest is rising and falling slowly. Stable pulse. Nice and warm, all curled up in his jacket, but he’s still worried. Wants to get it in front of a heater and have some food set up before it wakes.

Come midnight, it’s slow enough that he doesn’t feel bad tellin’ folks to clear out. It’s his bar, and he’s gotta get home, 2 AM last-call be damned. He wipes down the bartop till it shines like he always does, bundles up the still-sleeping fox, and drives home with it on his lap. It’s cold, but he doesn’t mind.

He opens the door to the trailer quietly. Sassy girl hisses anyway.

“Hush, you. We’ve got a new visitor, had a real rough night. You be polite now.”

She burrows back into the blanket nest, clicking grouchily.

He sets his bundle of fox down on the couch and gathers his supplies, setting them down on the coffee table.

“I guess you and I could both use a warm up, huh, little one?” he asks, flicking on the space heater he’d brought over and settling back on the couch. 

. . . . . .

You wake up. You don’t know where you are. Your whole body aches. You’re scared.

You sob, and you feel a large, gentle hand on your back, comforting you. Your vision is blurry as it begins to return, and you see warm wood and soft light. Your throat burns with dryness—then a dropper of cool water is placed at your lips, quenching your thirst. Wherever you are, you think you’re safe. And you’re so tired. So, so tired.

Sleep takes you once again.

. . . . . .

The little fox stirs and cries out, and Clyde thinks his heart might break at the sound. He knows he shouldn’t be careless in touching a creature like a fox, but he feels compelled—he places his hand on it, just _willing_ it to understand that it’s cared for right now. Water dropper, check its pulse. He stays as calm as he can—he knows animals can sense that sort of thing. 

But he’s tired. He’s so, so tired. 

He wakes with a low groan in the golden morning light, reclining on the back of the sofa.

_The fox!_

His head snaps to the side, praying it made it through the night, but…

He startles.

It’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. But it’s not a fox.

_It’s human._

You lie next to him, fast asleep, not a stitch of clothing on your body. 

It’s like your form’s been illuminated by moonlight; there’s something nearly… iridescent, glowing about you.

His chest heaves; his palms sweat.

“How on earth…” he whispers.

And you hear him.

You jolt awake, fingers scrabbling at his coat, pulling it to cover yourself.

“I can explain,” you blurt, wincing at the pain as you make to sit up.

**_“Are you okay?”_ **

On his face, a look of genuine concern.

He’d seen you change. Discovered your secret. Yet he was more worried for your welfare.

You stay quiet, observing him—a wild mane of inky locks, soft amber eyes, constellations of beauty marks, the plushest lips you’ve ever seen.

“You saved me,” you whisper in disbelief.

“No, I…” His voice is quiet and gentle, just like him. “I just couldn’t leave you.”

You find your body canting closer to his, your hand lifting to cup his cheek.

He finds himself leaning into your touch, eyes welling up at the gesture.

“A-are you? Okay?” he asks.

You blink your eyes slowly, feeling your body.

“I’m okay. Sore. But I would have frozen out there.”

He breathes out a shaky sigh.

“I couldn’t leave you,” he repeats. “What… W-what are you? Are you an animal? Or a human?” 

“A little bit of both, I guess” you smile softly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. 

His eyes close.

“I’ve never seen anythin’ so gorgeous.”

Your eyes close.

“And I’ve never met anyone so kind.”

It starts like a drop of hot water at the base of your skull—saffron light spilling the Boone County hills and warmth billowing through your body as your lips meet his. 

He hums, like it’s his first sip of water in the desert.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, eyes dewy.

You lean in again, mouth finding his more passionately, holding his face in both of your hands. Your tongue swipes over the seam of his lips, and they part to let you slip in—your kiss deepening as he licks back into you.

The quietest little moan escapes from his chest; his body angles toward yours, desperate to hold you. 

Beyond his conscious control, his hand lifts to your bare ribs.

You yelp in pain, his fingertips finding a tender, swollen bruise.

He pulls away from you fast as lightning, eyes full of panic.

“I’m so sorry darlin’, I didn’t—you’re hurt, and I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Just a bruise.”

“I should be taking care of you,” he worries. “What do you need? What can I do?”

You smile at him softly, this kind, gentle man—more worried about your welfare than the fact you just shifted on his couch.

“Well, I suppose I could use some clothes,” you chuckle, gesturing down to the wrap you’ve made of his quilted jacket.

“Oh… _Oh._ ” He blushes to the tips of his ears. “Yeah, ‘course.” 

He pushes himself off the couch and strides to what must be his room, padding back with a bundle of neatly folded clothing. 

“Might be a little big on ya,” he apologizes, handing you the stack and turning away from you for your privacy, of course.

You pull on the soft, black t-shirt. It’s got a Bob Seger graphic on the front and smells like sleep and spice and morning coffee. Pure comfort. There are shorts, too—cotton camo-print fabric that falls comically far below your knees.

“Thank you,” you say, signaling that you’re done changing.

“Now you look better in those than I do,” he kids as he turns around.

What he doesn’t say is that it makes his cock jump to see you in his clothes, that it makes him want to drag you back to his bedroom, and…

He shouldn’t be havin’ such sinful thoughts.

“I don’t even know your name,” you say.

“Clyde,” he says, swallowing thickly.

“I’m (Y/N).”

He repeats your name like it’s an incantation. 

“Can I… Can I getcha anything?” he asks.

“Is there… May I lie down for a while?”

“Of course, of course, y’need all the rest you can get.”

Shyly, he leads you to his bedroom—his broad frame takes up the entirety of the hallway. His bed is neatly made, military corners and all. You notice the tattoo on the inside of his forearm when he turns down the sheets... he must have served.

You clamber onto the mattress, and you’re enveloped in his smell as he raises the covers to tuck you in.

You’ve never seen anyone look at you so tenderly as he turns in the doorframe before leaving.

“You call if you need anything and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay,” you say drowsily, breathing deeply.

Your heavy eyelids flutter shut.

. . . . . .

Clyde makes the rounds on autopilot. Formula for the opossum joeys. Make sure sassy girl gets some food in her this time no matter what. Fresh water and a bit of fish for the owl. Cover up the cage so it’s nice and dark.

He sits down on the couch and drags his hand over his face. Pinches himself with his metal hand. He’d seen you, cradled you in his arms when you were a fox. Given you water. Checked your vitals. And there you were this morning, fox no more. And you’d _kissed_ him. It couldn’t be real. But it was. He’s not dreaming.

He’s always had this feeling—like little creatures in need would always find their way to him ‘cause they knew he’d take good care of ‘em. Like they knew he understood what it was to be hurt, what it was to heal, how to be patient, how to survive.

Was that you, too? Did he find you because something inside you knew he’d care for you?

No matter how attached he gets, he always has to say goodbye to his critters at some point. They’re wild things, and they belong out there. He’s just here to help ‘em get back out there.

He doesn’t understand it, but something in his heart so, so dearly wishes that you’d stay. Forever, if you like.

“Clyde?”

Your voice floats out from his bedroom.

Lord, you’re in his _bed._ Just the thought of it makes him a little woozy. 

He’s on his feet in a flash, rushing down the hallway to you.

“You alright, little one?”

Damn it. He didn’t mean to let that slip out.

“I…” you start, looking shy but weary, “Would you stay with me?”

You pull back the covers, offering a spot for him in the bed. You’re a little embarrassed about asking, but you’re feeling lonely and scared. Some company would do your heart a lot of good.

Pink returns to the tips of Clydes ears, but his heart flutters.

“Sure, sure…”

He slides in next to you, careful to leave some space out of respect, but you snuggle up next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

The tightness in your chest evaporates at the contact with him. You’re safe.

“Do ya…?” He starts to lift up his arm, offering the nook under his shoulder.

“Could I…?” You raise your head, sneaking into the hollow he’s created for you, molding your body to his, laying your head on his chest.

Tentatively, gently… he drapes his arm around you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He breathes in the scent of your hair. Bliss.

“How?” he asks quietly. “How do you do it? How does it happen? If I can ask you, that is.”

“I started out as a fox. A long, long time ago. But it’s safer to be human.”

“I understand.”

“And I stay that way all the time, but every winter solstice… I can’t help it. It just happens. I turn at dusk, and change back at dawn. I just… spend the night in the woods, where I was meant to be.”

“That sounds awful nice.”

“It is,” you smile. “But it didn’t go so well this year.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I can’t believe they didn’t even stop for ya, just breaks my heart.”

“But _you_ did, Clyde,” you say, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. “ _You_ stopped for me.”

There’s something about him that feels like a sanctuary, that makes you feel cared for. There’s something that’s pulling you closer to him, so close you want to crawl inside him, and…

Your hand traces over his chest, warm and solid beneath your touch. You can feel your wetness smearing between your thighs, underneath _his_ clothes. 

“I won’t ever tell anyone about you,” he promises. “You have my word.”

“I know you won’t.” You slide your hand up and under his shirt and he gasps, plush lips parting sweetly. “I trust you.”

“You’re real, aren’t ya?” he asks, eyes fluttering back in his head, back arching into your touch.

“I’m real,” you say, sliding your hand down, down, down to the outline of his thickening cock. 

You rub up and down, up and down with the heel of your palm, feeling him grow stiff and long at your attention.

“Darlin’, are you sure, I—I don’t want to hurt you, you’re…”

“I want to be close to you,” you say, starting to pull his shirt over his head. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

. . . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

It’s like you still have your augmented senses, although you know you don’t. 

Your eyes gleam bright, your whole body tingles as the wall of his scent hits your nose, his shirt loosed from his body. His skin—it smells like, smells like…

Home.

You can’t help but press your face to him, breathing him in, tasting his skin with your lips and tongue—soft kisses across the broad planes of his chest. You pause to tug your shirt over your head.

He’s breathless, wondrous.

Turning his body to face yours, he runs his soft, calloused fingers down your breasts, grazing your sensitive nipples.

You catch his wrist in your hand and bring it to your mouth, kissing each fingertip. 

You want to taste more of him.

Dipping your chin, you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking and tonguing, eyes closed.

Clyde lets out a shaky moan, his hips bucking toward you mindlessly, cock seeking friction against your hips.

You want  _ more _ of him.

You place his hand over your heart and reach down to your shorts, pushing them down your legs. You kick them off to be lost in the sheets, entirely unconcerned about recovering them.

Lacing your fingers through his belt loops you look up at him, question in your eyes.

He nods, lips parted.

“Please,” he whispers. “And darlin’, do you—my arm—do you mind if I take it off?”

“Of course,” you nod.

You work at the button and zipper of his jeans as he works the prosthetic off his lower arm, setting it down on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“No,” you reply. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re perfect. Just like this.”

You tug his jeans and boxers down past his straining cock, letting it bob hot and heavy against your belly. He nearly whimpers at the sensation, the feeling of his leaking tip tapping and rolling against your warm skin.

As you start to shift down his body, he hooks his arms under your shoulders.

“Wait, darlin’... I want to taste you first. Please,” he begs.

You look at each other, breathing heavily, neither one of you wanting to budge.

He takes a trembling inhale and pats on his chest.

“C’mere. On top of me.”

You nod, hips still writhing against him.

You lift yourself to your hands and knees gingerly, shifting around on the bed, and straddle him—slowly sinking your jelly-slick cunt down over his face. Leaning down, you see the size of him—inches upon inches, too wide to wrap a hand around, flushed tip and raised veins on his shaft. Your mouth waters.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, before his tongue delves into your glistening folds.

You moan, lips parting wide enough to take his swollen head, and his echoed moan reverberates through every tingling nerve in your pussy. Drooling, you start to sink down on his length, tongue sliding over the raised ridge on the top of his cock. 

Your jaw aches, sliding up and down and up and down on his thick shaft, but it’s all lost in the rapturous throbbing of your cunt—his plush lips wrapped around your stiff clit, his tongue swirling from your entrance to the very apex of your slit and back again, the feeling of his scruff tickling against your folds.

He groans deep and low each time you bob on his cock, deepening his licks and sucks in a frenzy of pleasure that drives your cadence faster and faster, too.

That blissful coil in your lower belly is winding up, the string inside you pulled taut, the tension ready to snap. You taste him leaking on your tongue, salty and musky and sweet and  _ delicious.  _ Makes you feel like you’re in heat.

Clyde flattens his tongue, laving against your sensitive bud, and you come undone—shaking and shuddering and moaning with your mouth stuffed full of his cock, your sweet juices spilling onto his lips.

It’s enough to send him over the edge. His cock pulses, ropes of white flooding your cheeks and dribbling from the corners of your mouth. You gulp him down as fast as you can, but he just keeps giving—cumming and cumming and cumming in your mouth.

Only when you wriggle your hips away from his mouth, pulling off his cock with a gasp, does he unlatch himself from your wet cunt… and even then, he presses light kisses to your clit, your folds, your fluttering entrance, sending jolts of electricity through your body. 

You slurp up the cum you’ve spilled at the base of his cock, humming all the while. You needed him. You needed  _ this _ . 

Crawling off him, you flip around and curl up in the space he’s made for you under his arm. You press your body into his bare chest, wanting as much of your skin touching his as possible.

He kisses you, long and deep—the taste of your cum fresh on his lips, and his on yours. 

Hooking underneath your knee, he pulls your top leg up and over his hips, letting his soft cock rest against your lower thigh. It jumps at the contact, twitching and starting to thicken again. 

You lie there, breathing each other’s air, euphoric. 

“This okay?” he whispers.

“Mhm,” you sigh, rocking your hips sofly, savoring the feel of his cock sliding against your cum-slicked thigh.

He sighs with you, smoothing his hands over your face, your neck, your shoulders—careful not to bump any of your bruises.

“I meant it,” he says, kissing each of your cheeks, your forehead. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

You bury your face in his neck, kissing and licking and nipping.

He chuckles. 

“Now I like those love bites.”

“Good. Because you’ll be getting a whole lot, you smile, nibbling your way down his shoulder.

You gasp as the tip of his cock grazes against your swollen cunt; your hips buck forward to find more of him. He’s nearly hard again now, thick and heavy on your leg. 

He shudders at the contact and rolls his hips into yours, sliding his cockhead against your sensitive folds. 

His eyes are glued on you as you let a dribble of spit fall into your palm and bring your hand down between your legs, smoothing it over the underside of his cock. You hold your hand there, keeping his shaft tucked in your folds as he thrusts shallowly, wetting himself in you.

He’s lost to it, cock going rock-hard in your tender grip, warmed by the heat of your cunt. He can feel the little dip of your entrance each time he slides over it, desperate to plunge into it with every inch of you.

“N-need you, darlin’,” he grits out, chest heaving with desire.

“Take me,” you whisper, pushing his tip into your tight, juicy hole.

He believes in magic now, thanks to you—your beauty, the way your pussy stretches to swallow inch after inch of him, the way you sound like starlight when you moan for him.

And you? You feel like you were  _ meant _ to take him, like you were  _ meant _ to feel this delectable burn as he splits you open. Like he was meant to be your  _ mate _ .

You quake and tremble as he works his cock into you, both of you panting hard when he bottoms out. 

He doesn’t want to drag his length out yet; he wants to stay in you deep, claiming you as his own—but he can’t resist the sensation of pushing into you again, can’t resist seeing your face while you take him.

He starts out slow—feeling your pussy grip him as he withdraws, listening to your sweet whimpers as he thrusts back in—but it doesn’t last long.

You whine, high and desperate, starting to fuck your hips into him as he meets you. That wet slap of your cunt on the base of his cock is irresistible; he speeds his cadence to match yours.

God, he wants to keep ya. 

Wild things aren’t meant to be tamed. You’ll never be owned by anyone, and he’d never want to trap you here but… he wishes you’d stay forever. Never leave. Stay here in bed, with him, till the end of time. 

He knows he’ll have to let you go…

But he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna cum in you deeper than deep before you do.

You keen, his cock hitting so deep inside you that you see stars, and his hand drops to your clit.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna…”

You’re cumming in a few swipes of his thick thumb, mouth gaping in a silent sob, scrabbling at his chest and shoulders. 

It’s stunning. Just like you are.

He tumbles over the threshold right after you, pouring himself into your cunt. He floods you with spurt after spurt of creamy white cum as deep as he can put it, making his claim on you in whatever small way he can. 

He exhales shakily, eyes finding yours.

“Darlin’... Would you stay for a while?”

. . . . . .

  
  


He’s been counting down the days. No, not until the holidays. Until the solstice.

And it’s finally here. Tonight.

He’s worried, of course. As is his want.

“Do you need anything for tonight, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, Clyde,” you reassure him with a grin, padding around the trailer in nothing but one of his t-shirts.

“Can I cook you something before ya go?”

“I’ll hunt tonight,” you smile. His concern is so endearing. You know he’d follow you all night with a flashlight if he could—just to make sure you’re safe.

“What about a blanket?”

“Fur,” you wink.

“I’m just nervous,” he huffs. 

“I know, love,” you soothe, running your hands through his mussed hair. “I’ll be okay, and I’m coming home to you.”

You’ve been coming home to him every day since New Year’s Day—when you let your lease expire and moved into the cozy little trailer with him. You’ve never felt more at home than here—even more than the woods. 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’d bet the house on it,” you wink, fiddling with the necklace you wear—his lucky horseshoe ring. You’d fitted it with a second, shorter clasp to keep it around your neck after you shift tonight. “Plus, you’ve got someone else to look after tonight.”

Sassy Girl hisses from her pile of blankets on the couch.

Even after being released to the wild, she’d come waddling back to Clyde a week later. Walked right in the front door and took a seat on the couch. Just decided she owned the place.

“Manners,” Clyde scolds, picking her up. She clicks happily and hangs from his metal arm by the tail.

“Promise you’ll stay away from roads?” he asks looking at the setting sun out of the window.

“Promise,” you say, kissing him soft and slow. You belong to him, and he belongs to you.

Well, you _and_ Sassy Girl.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ················································
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ 
> 
> [Buy me a whiskey?](ko-fi.com/jynzandtonic)
> 
> _No trigger is too small-- **ask me and I'll tag it!**_
> 
> **A brief note on sex and gender:** I'm AFAB nonbinary, so I while I write for fem!reader (anatomy-wise) and I *do* have a soft spot for certain gendered pet names (which are always tagged if applicable), I hope there's enough space for folx at a variety of places on the gender spectrum to feel included in my fics xoxoxo.
> 
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